Page 3 of Under His Watch

He winced at the mention of the woman who’d pursued my father so relentlessly since the beginning of the year. While seeing my father and Nina so sickeningly in love was an adjustment, I was very glad that I wouldn’t have to put up with telling Stefan Giovanni’s clingy daughter to get lost.

“Yeah, it’s a bunch of stupid nonsense.” He sighed as he stood and backed up, stretching his spine and arms. “We don’t need a woman.”

I shrugged. It’d be nice, though.

“We need to stay on guard. Keep our eyes open.” He glanced at me, somber and serious. “With Dante focusing on Nina and the arrival of their baby, he won’t be one hundred percent focused on the war with Stefan and Reaper.”

I cringed at the mention of the Devil’s Brothers MC’s leader. Reaper was as nasty as they came.

“Which means we—you and I—need to handle the due diligence for him.”

I held out my hand for him to smack it in our custom shake. “And we will.”

My loyalty to my father and my family wouldalwaystake precedence over any projects I might take on and any daydreams I might create about a fantasy woman who’d accept and love me for the twisted, dark bastard I was.

2

TESSA

My supervisor thought he was just “doing his job”, but it came across more like he wanted to hold me hostage. I deadpanned at him as he flirted with my coworker, another waitress at the sports bar I’d picked up as a second job. The Hound and Tea was still my first job, but to make ends meet—or, in other words, to hand over money to my lazy father who claimed he couldn’t work—I recently started waitressing at the bar on the edge of town. Waitressing was a universal service, and I appreciated the ease of being able to land another part-time job.

But this supervisor’s policy to keep me waiting until he checked my section and approved my end-of-the-shift tasks was bullshit. If he’d stop flirting with my coworker and just check off the crap on my list, I could’ve left a half hour ago.

But noooo. He’s gotta take his sweet-ass time trying to get in her pants and waste the rest of my night.

I sat up, frowning at my phone. It no longer was night. Nearing one thirty in the morning, it was way too late to be stuck here, waiting for permission to leave. He made me clock out already. Iwasn’t waiting and getting paid for my time, but I wasn’t okayed to go.

As if I summoned the device to buzz, my phone rang before I could stick it back into my pocket. Spotting my father’s name on the caller ID didn’t make me smile. I grimaced. Then I considered letting it go to voicemail. When it did, I sighed in relief. Speaking with my parents was always a trying endeavor, and I preferred to avoid them as much as I could. With the many hours I worked, it wasn’t too hard. They slept in, and I went to work. Rinse and repeat.

He called again, and I growled as I answered. “Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?”

I pulled my lips in, bottling in a scream of frustration. He knew damn well where I was. Where I always was. I had no life—social or otherwise. I was stuck in this hamster-wheel race of life, always slaving away for crappy pay and never getting ahead. “I haven’t gotten off work yet.”

Spying my supervisor leaning in toward the smiling waitress, I sighed and wondered if I should just leave and excuse my disobedience of not waiting for his dismissal for wanting to give them privacy.

“I need the car. You know this.”

I rolled my eyes, then zoned out at the dark ceiling. They’d painted it black to make the bar look dimmer, but it looked tacky with chips and marks showing the white drywall underneath.

“You’re getting really spoiled, you know that?” he snarled.

I laughed, choking on the irony of what he claimed. “Me?Spoiled?”

“Yes. You’re a spoiled brat, expecting to just go where you please whenever you want, usingmycar.”

“Oh.” Anger rose up swiftly. “You mean your car that I use to go to work, both the jobs I hold down to giveyoumy money? Because you’re”—I cleared my throat—“fucking lazy, claiming you’re too disabled to hold down a job?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

I shook my head, not feeling guilty in the slightest. “You sprained the joint of your pinky. Your pinky finger! Ten years ago!” It was the lamest excuse for disability ever, and his so-called handicap status was a goddamn lie because he was fully capable of playing his video games, drinking and smoking, and doing everything anyone with ten working fingers could manage as a fully functioning adult. He’d only realized that I could work for him, and that was the start of his stay-at-home, do-nothing existence.

“I need the car back so Joey and I can go to the fishing and hunting store tomorrow, right when they open, so we get the door buster deals.”

“I’m sure I’ll be home before then.”

“Did you get good tips tonight?”

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